


Mistletoe

by bigblueboxat221b



Series: Speaking in Tongues [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Party, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:31:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9856058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: John and Sherlock finally put the green spiky stuff to best use.





	

John stood over Sherlock, arms crossed, face dark. Sherlock, generally an expert on reading body language, had made the dangerous mistake of answering John while not really listening.

Yanked unceremoniously out of his mind palace (the library was going to take forever to tidy up), Sherlock realised his mistake when he saw John’s glare locked on his face. Now he was sure he had agreed to possibly the worst idea in the world.

“I am not hosting a Christmas party,” Sherlock spat the last two words with an extra serve of disdain.

John raised one eyebrow. “No, you’re not," he agreed. Sherlock relaxed slightly, until John spoke again. “But I am. And you,” he pointed one finger at Sherlock, “are going to be there.”

Sherlock huffed a sigh and rolled over, facing the back of the couch. If he hadn’t been sitting down when John came in, he would have been able to leave and avoid this whole misunderstanding. He never would have agreed to it if he had been listening. Why did John not understand that?

A pulse of fear ran through him as the devil inside whispered, “He might leave if you don’t do this, Sherlock.” Weighing the possibilities, the logical side of his brain told Sherlock John was too emotionally invested in their relationship to leave over such a triviality. The other side, however, pointed out that people often did unfathomable things when faced with sentiment, and Sherlock really had no point of reference as to how close ‘failing to attend your partners’ Christmas party in your own house’ came to the line. He sighed again, resigning himself to the fact. Better safe than without John, he thought.

“Fine!” he said, drawing the word out and making it sound as laboured as he possibly could. “I’ll be there.”

John, who had sat down in his chair after their showdown, lowered his newspaper and cocked one eyebrow.

Sherlock huffed, looked at the ceiling and said in a singsong voice, “I’ll be there, and I’ll be dressed in outside clothes, and I’ll be nice, though not to Anderson or Donovan, who you shouldn’t invite anyway.”

John snorted. “As if I’d invite them,” he said, mentally reviewing the guest list. Anderson would never have made the cut, but he was debating inviting Sally. She had been much less confrontational lately, but John accepted that there was a lot of water under that particular bridge and if Sherlock was consenting to come so easily, the least he could do was consider Sherlock’s guest list wishes.

“Why do people celebrate Christmas anyway?” Sherlock grumbled, pacing. He couldn’t be bothered going back to his mind palace, the tedium of clearing up the mess in the library too much to bear. A really good rant would make him feel better, so he started spouting early Christian history, thus ignoring John for the second time that morning. Rookie error, really, he thought to himself as John threw him over one shoulder. The strength and technique from his Army days had never deserted him, Sherlock mused, knowing from experience that if he struggled, John would likely drop him, hurting both of them and royally pissing John off.

“Since you seem to have so much energy,” John purred, dropping Sherlock on the bed and crawling up his body, “let’s find something to do, shall we?”

Sherlock grinned. Perhaps John wasn’t the idiot he had first appeared to be.

+++

John was an IDIOT, Sherlock thought irritably to himself. The problem with parties, of course, was all the people. John had invited pretty much everyone they knew, and their flat being so small, everyone was crowded together, sweating and shedding skin cells on each other. It had spread downstairs, literally down the stairs and into Mrs. Hudson’s flat, where the Iron Maiden she was playing for Mrs. Turner’s ‘married ones’ clashed horribly with their own Patsy Biscoe Christmas tunes.

Sherlock shuddered. There was no escape, and worst of all, no refuge in John.

They hadn’t exactly kept their relationship a secret, per se, but neither were they particularly demonstrative outside the flat. Sherlock realised he and John had a friendship different to other people, not that he cared; but the general perception that they were a couple before they actually were seemed to work in their favour now. Neither of them had ever spoken of it, so they continued to exist in two slightly different modes; Couple Mode when alone (a slightly strained variation when in the presence of Harry, Lestrade or Mycroft, all of whom knew of their relationship); and John-and-Sherlock Mode, the same as Before. Closer than friends, but not…more. It had never bothered Sherlock until now.

Now, when he felt out of sorts, surrounded by so many people and unable to leave, he needed to put his arm around John. To have him smile his special smile, perhaps even steal a kiss; but the presence of practically everyone they knew would preclude that. John would not want it known, and Sherlock would never do something so bold as to expose their true relationship without asking him first.

Across the room, John stood with Greg and Mycroft. The two were an odd couple, John thought, chalk and cheese. They had not made a huge announcement to anybody, simply showing up as a couple to the traditional ‘first weekend in December’ party at the Holmes family estate.

John had been invited for several years now, so goodness knows what Mummy and Father thought of him and Sherlock. They had been tactful enough to provide John a separate bedroom, “If you’ll be needing two bedrooms,” and he had accepted, every year until this. The satisfaction and happiness in both their faces at the development was a surprise and pleasure to John, whose own parents had rarely celebrated anything for either of their children.

Now, John saw how Greg stood slightly behind Mycroft, his left arm invisible to John, who suspected it was anchoring him to Mycroft’s lower back. Their affection was clear, though understated, and John recognised the happiness they provided each other.

He sighed despite himself, wishing he and Sherlock could scrap the Modes and just be themselves, all the time. He could do with some couple-happiness right now, watching the roomful of couples ‘accidentally’ walk under the mistletoe and kiss, to the increasingly tipsy applause of the rest of the room.

Sherlock was a private person, however, and inexperienced with relationships; John would never do something so bold as to expose their true relationship without asking him first.

Across the room, the detective stole a glance at the doctor.

Across the room, the doctor stole a glance at the detective.

Collision.

They smiled at each other, the special smiles that said all the unsaid things, binding them together as partners and lovers.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows infinitesimally, delicately suggesting.

John’s smile widened as he understood and agreed.

They each stood still for a moment, before John nodded subtly at the mistletoe hanging in the doorway to their flat.

Sherlock grinned.

Sherlock gave his drink to the nearest person, not even seeing Molly as she accepted it.

John gave his drink to the nearest person, not even seeing Mycroft as he fumbled and dropped it, champagne running down his trousers.

They moved together, bodies attuned despite the cacophony, coming together as one under the mistletoe. Neither noticed the heads turning as they finally touched, the demand of skin on skin finally realised with the lightest brush of fingertips over cheekbones.

“Not a terrible idea,” Sherlock murmured, his arms sliding around John.

Merry Christmas, Sherlock,” John smiled, eyes full of affection.

Neither noticed the fond looks from their gathered friends as gentle suppositions were realised and not a few bets were won and lost. Neither heard the applause, lost as they were in the magic of Christmas and each other.


End file.
